Bedded Rivals
by Salysha
Summary: Jin wakes up in bed with Hwoarang. He has little recollection of what has happened. Unfortunately, everyone else seems to know well enough. Humor, slash, Hwoarang/Jin.
1. Rude Awakening

**Disclaimer**: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Warnings**: This features m/m slash, which means that two men are portrayed in a romantic relationship. If that bothers you, skip this story and read something you are comfortable with. This story is rated PG-13, or T.

**Pairings**: Hwoarang/Jin

* * *

**Bedded Rivals**

by Salysha

* * *

**Chapter 1: Rude Awakening**

Jin Kazama woke up to the weight of another person on his chest and groaned. Then frowned. Then woke up completely as he realized that it was, indeed, the weight of _someone else _on _his_ very person.

Hwoarang was sprawled across him comfortably. His arm was flung across Jin's chest, and his leg... With something of a panic, Jin picked Hwoarang's leg off his crotch, where it had lain snugly. He pushed Hwoarang away, and the other man flinched and muttered something in his sleep.

Jin struggled up and made another unexpected, unwelcome discovery: he was wearing only his underwear. He looked at Hwoarang and discovered that the other man was completely nude. Jin moved with haste to draw the covers over him more modestly.

Jin virtually flung himself on the floor and felt his way around all the clothing lying around the bed. He gave a sigh of relief when his fingers finally touched the familiar fabric of his sweatpants. He found his boots and, last, the hoodie. He grabbed it and went for the door...

"Jin." The voice was sleepy.

"Jin?" Jin's voice rose. Since when did Hwoarang call him "Jin?"

A snort. "That's your given name, Kazama."

Jin forgot to feel offended. Instead, he wondered what kind of a prank this was, and more importantly, how he was going to get out of it. Maybe this was a nightmare?

"You don't have to go, you know. You could stay." Hwoarang did not sound smug this time.

"Uh, no, it's all right. I have to go." Jin made a move toward the door.

"Everything okay?"

"I must go. I am sorry," Jin said and slipped out to avoid any follow-up questions.

* * *

He and Hwoarang were in bed, together? And on a first-name basis? And judging by Hwoarang's reaction, there was nothing odd about it all.

Jin was not even sure where to start listing all the things that were off with this. He glanced about, and finally decided he could not even remember where his room was. He headed downstairs.

As it was, downstairs was anything but empty. It was Friday night, and the tournament had a day off the next day. A roaring party was taking place, and with vague drowsiness, Jin realized that he had completely missed the noise of frolicking until now.

As he stepped into the lounge, a thunder of applause and whistles broke out. Luckily, the game of strip poker around the table soon took most people's attentions away.

"Lookwhoshere!" A thoroughly inebriated Steve Fox appeared out of nowhere and slapped Jin hard on the back. "Didn't s'pect t'see you luvbirds 'ere t'night, mate. "

_Lovebirds?_

"Where'dya leave yourother half? Steve glanced on both sides of Jin in a largely overacted fashion and almost dropped on the floor, only Jin reacted quickly and pulled him upright. "Ta." Steve seemed to forget about Jin then, and happily floundered elsewhere, leaving Jin befuddled.

"Don't mind him. He has had a few drinks too many," a female voice remarked. Julia Chang had a drink in her hands, but she sounded sober and sat upright. "Or rather, he had a few too many, and decided to have a few too many more. That boy is going to be sorry tomorrow."

When Jin said nothing, she frowned. "Everything okay? Hey, you in there? Sit down." She gestured at a seat.

"Wha— what's happening here?"

"Exactly what it looks like: a wild night of partying. You should have seen Christie earlier. Never knew that girl had it in her...," Julie said with clear disbelief. "Or you, for that matter. You of all people, who are all so proper and, I don't know, dignified?"

Jin looked alarmed. Julia Chang took his look for something else as she hurried to continue. "I didn't mean that in a bad way; don't look at me like that. I just meant that you don't seem like the partying type, and all of a sudden, you are going at it like mad with _Hwoarang_— Hey, stop that. I don't mean that in a bad way, either; it just was a surprise."

"It was?" Jin was unsure what he was supposed to say, or if this counted as a question.

"Oh, come on. You didn't think it was? It doesn't make a difference to me, but Xiaoyu took it hard. The poor thing ran to her room, and she hasn't come out all evening. I think—"

"What happened?"

"Hey, what is it with you? You were there."

"Remind me," Jin said numbly.

"You really don't look too well," said Julia and gave Jin a critical once-over. "Fine, fine, I'll recap the evening for you. Your new boyfriend will be disappointed if you go amnesiac on him."

Surprising himself, Jin didn't even flinch.

* * *

Julia described the course of the evening to him, while only the wild cheers from the poker table interrupted her. Julia did not question repeating the events to him, and Jin surmised she must have had more to drink than she let on.

A good few people had gathered downstairs. They had made some punch out of the bootleg Bryan Fury had smuggled in and acquired a legion of other drinks from dubious sources. They had put on some loud music, drunk the punch, and listened to the music. Jin had come in when they already had the party underway. He had stayed, uncharacteristically—Julia repeated her view that he wasn't much of the partying type.

At that point, Julia had left and come back later, and then, well, they were at it. Hwoarang and Jin had everyone's attention as they were kissing each other's brains out and stroking each other and taking turns trapping one another against a wall. Julia seemed quite flushed describing it and helped herself to another drink.

"And everyone was cheering you on."

"What?"

"Not just the girls. Guys, too."

_Was that supposed to be a compliment?_

"Anyway, then you took it to your room. Half the house heard you on the stairs—you nearly broke the rails. But it got okay once you got wherever you were going. We continued here downstairs, and the party's been nonstop since." Julia sank into silence and rolled the empty glass in her fingers tiredly. "Where'd you leave Hwoarang?" she asked suddenly.

"Uh—"

"I don't feel well. Excuse me." Julia vacated the chair and rushed out of the room. Jin was left sitting, with a surreptitious headache building.

Now that Jin was alone, he noticed that other people in the room were giving him looks. Most who noticed that he had noticed winked, or made suggestive gestures and winked afterward. Anna Williams realized that she had been caught and she blew him a kiss, which might been sensual had she not licked her lips and looked at Jin with a predatory glance. Jin felt suddenly like he was prey.

"You dog." Jin barely turned toward the accented voice when Lee Chaolan plopped into the vacant seat. Lee had obviously had more than his share of drinks and seemed to be in great spirits. Usually a snappy dresser, he'd loosened his collar considerably. "What'd you do with your boyfriend; did you wear him out already?" Lee said with a laugh.

"Um—"

"Don't worry. I won't need details. We got the preview already."

_Great._

Lee did not seem too intent on exchanging more pleasantries. Instead, he glanced about the room with an appreciative eye, apparently not at all bothered by Jin's discomfort.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" a deep voice rang.

Lee made no haste to turn toward the speaker. When he did, he leered openly. "Kazzuuy-ya. Didn't think I'd see you here. Shouldn't you be off stabbing someone in the back?"

The already foul mood of Kazuya Mishima took a dive for the worse. "What do you know about it, maggot?"

"Not nearly as much as you do. You like to talk big; too bad you can't play the action, unlike Jin here. Happy to see that at least someone in the Mishima family has balls."

"Leave my son out of this." Kazuya was bordering on fury now.

Lee wasn't one bit intimidated. "Such nasty habits you got, Kazuya. Learn from someone with style." He rose from the chair gracefully and leaned in. "Like me."

Before a fight broke out, Lee turned his back on Kazuya and said to no one in particular, "I better find some fresh air and better company. No offense, Kazama." With a swing to his hips and wave of his arm, he left the scene, leaving a dumbfounded Jin and an enraged Kazuya behind.

Kazuya clenched his fists and then seemingly decided that the time and the place were not right. With the briefest nod of acknowledgement to Jin, he too exited, only in the opposite direction.

Jin did not feel like he could stay here any longer. He just longed to get to bed—_alone_—and deal with this mess in the morning. He still hoped that this was a vivid, bizarre nightmare. He left hastily, before anyone else could come for a friendly chat, but he stopped in his tracks by the stairs. He had no idea where his room was, or if he even had a room. He wondered vaguely why the memory lapse didn't bother him more. Rubbing his temples, he explored his alternatives.

He could pass out right here—unpleasant. Go back and find a peaceful couch—unlikely. Go back and ask around where he was staying—unwise. With the overall giddy mood and attention, he had the unnerving feeling that he could not expect guileless help.

The last option was to go back where he had come from. That room he did remember, despite his rushed departure.

Jin chose to face the music. He plodded back to the room and opened the door carefully. Only even breathing greeted him.

Jin tiptoed to the free side of the bed and sat down gingerly. He pulled off his boots quietly and lay down next to the sleeping Hwoarang. The bed gave a slight screech, and Jin winced. He dared not pull any of the covers on him, so he just turned on his side and huddled to himself.

"Back already?"

Jin froze as the bed bent slightly.

"What the hell, Kazama?"

A hand felt up his sweatsuit and pulled at his shirt.

"I am cold," Jin said quickly and pushed the hand away.

A chuckle. "Bull, and you know it. You are such a prude, Kazama." The hand stopped groping and instead, spread the covers on both of them. A body spooned Jin, a strong arm snaked across his chest, and Hwoarang let out a sigh. "Now, shut up already and let me sleep."

_Good enough_. Jin closed his eyes tiredly.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Huge thanks** to **Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!

**Published** April 2, 2008.


	2. Crude Awakening

Thank you so much for taking interest in this fic, and a huge thanks for the great reviews! Finishing on a major something forced me to drop everything for a month. I am sorry; there was no way around it. Now, I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I also remind you that this is slash and slashy humor, so please mind your sensitivities and take a U-turn if need be.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Crude Awakening**

Hwoarang woke to a presence by his side. In his bed—and in his arms—as his brain registered the situation step by step. He groaned, then frowned. He could not even remember getting to bed, let alone getting to bed _with_ someone. He opened his eyes with effort and cursed the curtains that failed to keep out the daylight. His arm was numb as he it pulled off his partner. His partner? Hwoarang was suddenly alert and struggled against the painful light.

"What the—"

Hwoarang stared at the sleeping body of Jin Kazama in horrified stupor, which quickly turned to enraged confusion. He reacted on an instinct. "Get out!" he yelled and gave Jin a violent push.

Jin fell off the bed with an ungraceful thump. He was on his feet in no time, staring at Hwoarang, with aggravation taking over the sleepiness.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hwoarang demanded and rose to his knees. Belatedly, he realized his unclothed state, and pulled the bedcovers on himself quickly. This new discovery did not improve his mood.

"What are you trying to do?" Jin snarled.

"What am I—? What are you doing here, Kazama?" Hwoarang demanded. He tugged the covers firmly around his waist as he scrambled up on the opposite side of the bed.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Hwoarang glowered in wrath. "What are you playing at, Kazama?"

Jin struggled to keep his composure, when an unnerving thought struck him. "You don't remember?"

"What...?" Hwoarang left the question in the air. Instead, he broke the staring match and shifted uneasily. He licked his lips unconsciously. "What am I supposed to remember?" There was hesitation in his voice.

Jin sat down on the bed wearily, and this time, he got to stay there. He hung his head and wondered briefly how, exactly, he had tempted fate to find himself here. "It seems that last night we..." There was a pregnant pause. "I thought you knew."

Hwoarang battled the growing unease. "It's not possible." At the same time, he realized his fingers were losing feel, holding onto the covers as tightly as they were. "It's not possible?"

Jin just shook his head.

The silence broke when Hwoarang gulped and muttered, "Where are my clothes?"

Jin started to turn, but Hwoarang gestured at him agitatedly.

"Will you—"

Jin turned his back wordlessly and studied the sunbathed curtains. He heard shuffling noises across the room and the swoosh of fabrics brushing. Jin was looking at the window sill when something caught his attention. The way that the shadows hit the window reminded him of something. Then it struck him.

_Second door to the left._

He almost gasped as he remembered his own room with burning certainty. The window there gave light differently. And with that, Jin knew the layout of the room and the location of it as well as he backtracked his sudden memory flash.

He was up and at the door with a few strides.

"What are you—" Hwoarang was startled and much too entangled in the straps of his pants to hinder Jin.

"I must go."

"Hey, waitaminute—" Hwoarang's words fell to deaf ears, as Jin all but stormed out of the room and closed the door behind him. "Kazama!"

It was no use. Jin was gone, and Hwoarang was left alone, with only a good few questions and a pounding head to keep him company. Hwoarang cursed and yanked the offending pants in place with a bit too much force. He set out to find himself a shirt and found his top crumpled on the floor. He tucked it in almost savagely and set out to find the rest of his attire with the same unfaltering intensity.

There was no way to divert his train of thought, though. He and Kazama had been together_? Like that?_ Either Kazama had lost his mind, or he his, or then they were both deranged and had . . . what? Hwoarang leaned onto a wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He vaguely remembered talking to someone at night, which helped nothing. Before and after was a blank, and the only person with answers had left in a fit of an epiphany.

Hwoarang ran his fingers through with his hair, and decided that this could wait until he had eaten something. His head was muddled as-was, and luckily, the start of the day had not quite sunk in yet.

He was halfway downstairs when he felt a sudden vertigo. The stairs were steep, but it was no excuse. With a sharp intake of breath, Hwoarang leaned back on the rail and fought to keep his alarm at bay. What the hell was wrong with his head? He could not think straight, and now his step faltered as well. As he rested there, gripping a hold of himself, something completely different struck him.

_Leaning back on the rail and smooching with someone._

The memory was so lively that he shot up and almost tripped on the stairs. He grabbed the rail and rubbed his temple. It could not be. This had to be some sort of a nightmare.

It had to be a new low, Hwoarang thought ruefully, as he forced himself upright and down the stairs. Waking up nude, _cuddling Jin Kazama_, with blanks and freaky flashbacks for memories? Great start for a day. At least, it couldn't get worse than this.

* * *

It could only get worse, as Hwoarang soon learned. He had made it into the kitchen; then, everyone had made him out. Now, less than ten baffling minutes later, he had been privy to more information than he had ever wanted know. He had been informed of how a couple more fighters never locked their doors and how they got lonely at night. A couple of what's-their-faces had tried to give him their room keys. From what Hwoarang gathered, it was for something he had done last night, but there was no way to ask.

"Look, I'm hungry, so do you mind...?"

It was no use. New predators had showed since the first ones had gotten their share.

"Would you like me to feed you?" a low, pseudoseductive voice murmured, followed by a giggle. Anna Williams had stood by long enough. Now, she sought to place herself and her miniskirt in Hwoarang's lap, and only the fact that Hwoarang was cowering by the table kept her at bay.

He was saved by a temporary ally.

"Desperation becomes you, sister dear," a cool, careful enunciation rang. Out of the haphazard group wandering about, the newly arrived Nina Williams was the odd one: there was no evidence of a party night on her or in her demeanor, as she stood there dressed in a catsuit, sneering at Anna.

Anna immediately straightened up, but regained her composure quickly. "Nina. Did you leave your broom outside?"

Nina shook her head amusedly. "You and your pathetic little insults. Will you ever learn?"

"Would you like to see a few new tricks? I've saved them all for you."

"I doubt you've been saving, Anna."

Anna gave a shrill laugh. "Sticks and stones, Nina. Or, is it broomsticks with you?"

"The joke is getting old, and so are you."

"Hag."

Nina faked to yawn. "Boring. I see I must look elsewhere for any competition." She turned away.

"I'll come. A scratching post like you makes as good a spar as any." Anna detached herself from Hwoarang, but before she followed in Nina's suit, she bent over and breathed in Hwoarang's ear, "You'll excuse me. We'll have to continue this another time somewhere . . . private."

_Not while I live._

Anna left with heels clicking and hips swinging.

Hwoarang shuddered. _What a vamp_ . . . _ire_. His relief was short-lived, though, as yet another fighter decided to put in his two cents' worth.

"Saved by the bell, huh?"

"The hell does that even mean, Phoenix?" Hwoarang snapped.

"Whoa, defensive. Take it easy. Just seems the lady is interested even when there ain't no interest in the lady. Or ladies." Never one to err for discretion, Paul Phoenix put that last bit in knowingly.

"Shut up." Hwoarang felt a flush creeping on his face.

"It's no secret you and the Kazama kid are an item now. What'd you do with your boyfriend, anyway?" Paul said and laughed like he had just told a howler.

"I'm looking to beat Kazama, not date him."

"Off."

"What?"

"Off," Paul repeated, looking self-satisfied.

Hwoarang shot him an incredulous look that spelled, _I don't get it_. Then, the guffawing started. It spread like a disease; some in the present company got it, and those that did not just followed the infectious snickering. "What the hell are you laughing at?" he demanded.

Paul was in too much agony to elucidate—he didn't mean harm to the kid, anyway—and the company just drifted further into insanity. It seemed like the night before had left some tension, which was now released as mass-hysteria.

Hwoarang had had enough. "Screw you!" The chair was knocked over as Hwoarang got up fiercely and stormed out. He got as far as the staircase when he saw Jin, now orderly and prepared to train, emerge on the upper landing. "And screw you, too!"

Jin was taken aback. "What?" he said and leaned over.

_Screech._ The wooden rail caved in under Jin, who tried in vain to regain his balance and pull himself back. It was no use, and Jin plunged. Hwoarang lifted his arms up for protection, and that was all he had time for before Jin landed straight on him.

Hwoarang was knocked down, and a pained moan escaped him at the impact. The fall did not spare Jin, either. Jin landed with his hands first and hit them painfully before the rest of him landed on Hwoarang and knocked the wind out of the both of them.

Aching, Jin lay there before regaining his senses. He realized he was lying heavily on Hwoarang, who lay motionless, and set out to move. He placed hands on both sides of Hwoarang and pushed himself up with a groan. One foot at a time, he removed his weight off the other man. Chest heaving, he remained there just to catch his breath...

"Bravo!"

Jin looked up to see Lee Chaolan leaning on the doorframe, smirking and clapping his hands with measured relish. He looked around languidly to discover a number of familiar figures at the scene. The shuffling noises around gave away the fact that the audience was growing.

It was the wolf-whistle that crystallized the horror of the situation to Jin.

_It's not like that._

It was unlikely that the keen spectators, watching the half-naked Jin Kazama hunched over Hwoarang, saw it that way.

**T.B.C.**

* * *

**Many thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** May 13, 2008.


	3. Smashing

To the reviewers, huge thanks, and to all readers, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Smashing**

Under the watchful eyes of a growing number of spectators, Jin saved face as best as he could: lifted his head up, fixed his eyes on a neutral spot on the wall, and—muscles allowing—hoisted himself from over the top of Hwoarang onto the man's other side, rose on one knee, and carefully ignored everyone else in the room.

"Oh, I thought you were..."

Jin paid no heed to the speaker. Something else concerned him more instead. "Hey." He shook Hwoarang.

Hwoarang, who had lain senseless, gave a stifled sound, and Jin sighed with relief. He was gathering strength to get up when a sheepish Paul emerged from the blur of faces and took charge.

"You fine?" he asked Jin, who nodded mutely. "And you, kid? Still breathin'?" he asked Hwoarang and nudged him slightly. He barely received a response.

The crowd was still there, though, and Paul Phoenix took care of that first. "Show's over. That's gonna be my fist in your face if ya don't scram... Watch yaself!" he roared when someone on the upper landing almost tripped over through the broken rails.

The crowd began to disperse obligingly, and only few fighters remained behind.

Phoenix gave a satisfied snort and turned his attentions to the original problem. "Time to get up," he said to Hwoarang. "Come on. I'll take you to lie down." He pulled the drooping redhead on his feet and struggled to support him. "You gonna be fine here?" he asked again.

Jin realized the question was directed at him and nodded. And immediately he regretted nodding because of the dizziness it brought. "Yes," he mumbled.

"I'll get him to his room. Or should I take him to yours?"

"His," Jin said numbly. His contributions were becoming increasingly monosyllabic. He could not fathom why Paul Phoenix was helping, either.

As on cue, Paul offered an explanation of sorts. "Hey, Kazama? I was outta line. It's none of my business."

_Uh?_ Jin had no idea what the man was talking about. He couldn't recall talking with Paul Phoenix . . . ever.

Paul Phoenix was satisfied, though, and turned to his attendee. "Come on. Work with me, kid," he muttered as Hwoarang sidestepped and nearly crumpled on the floor. Paul grabbed him brusquely and hoisted him up the stairs as the remaining spectators made room. The others could only hear his reply to Hwoarang's mumbling. "Ya don't hate him; that's just the concussion talking..."

"Are you feeling all right?" That was Julia, eyeing Jin worriedly.

Jin stood there, dazed. He gazed after the retreating pair, but he snapped out of it. "Fine," he responded weakly. He could feel the eyes on him as he took his leave in the opposite direction and out of the building.

* * *

Hwoarang lay on his bed, looking at the nicely swinging room.

Why Kazama? Why not one of the feather-light females? That was the gist of the problem, was it not: Why _Kazama_?

While Hwoarang fumbled with his thoughts before dozing off, the question why was pondered downstairs as well, although along more practical lines.

"This house is shit. That's why the rails caved in," one fighter voiced.

Bryan Fury shrugged. "It's not that bad. Besides, these don't take much to break down." Before anyone had had a chance to comment, Bryan had stepped up to the staircase, taken a firm grip, and yanked an entire sidebar out with a creaking sound. The rails gave a warning screech and shifted visibly.

"Useless idiot! Why did you do that?"

Bryan held his answer. He studied the sidebar in his hands with obvious relish, and then shot a wolfish grin. "Because I could. Endless power, sweetheart," he said. He left with a cackle and flung the sidebar at the man who joined the scene just then.

The newcomer caught the piece of wood easily and gave a hard stare at the retreating figure. "Bryan Fury," he said in an undertone. He itched to use his badge on that one. Now was not the right time, though, and the man handed the sidebar over to Julia courteously. He and Paul Phoenix passed each other on the stairs, as Paul returned without his attendee.

"Did you just leave him there? You can't leave a person who's hit his head alone," Julia scolded.

"What am I, a nurse?" muttered Paul Phoenix.

"Who's hit his head?" a voice murmured. Anna stood there, brushing her disheveled hair lightly and dusting her clothes with careful caresses.

She was informed of the latest Jin–Hwoarang development.

"How dreadful. I simply must go and take care of him," she cooed. "Where is he?" She bent low to brush off her skirt.

"Who?" Phoenix was distracted.

"Dear Who-rang, of course. Have you not a single brain cell in you?" she spat.

Paul stiffened. "Suit yourself. Last door to the right."

Anna humphed in triumph, and made a beeline for the stairs, hips swinging precariously. The others watched her go and disappear before the corner. Phoenix could have sworn he heard her purr. He gave a smile of his own.

"Did you say, 'last door to the right'? I thought that was—" Julia started and frowned.

A feminine shriek was heard from upstairs, followed by a gravelly, "Oooh, yeah. Gimme sugar!"

"—Marduk's room," she finished lamely.

"Honest mistake."

* * *

Hwoarang was awoken when someone entered the room.

"Oy, you awake?"

"Mmm." Hwoarang acknowledged the person, and that was all he cared to do: to acknowledge. He hoped the man would take a hint, not that he thought it very likely.

"Come on. Rise and shine."

"Mmm me alone."

Steve Fox faked a sigh and propped himself on the bed. "Come on, already." He punched Hwoarang playfully, and was surprised at the lack of response. "You aren't actually sick, are you?"

"Been better," Hwoarang muttered.

"Come on. Get up and come for a spar. It'll do you good." Steve waited, but no response came. "Mate?"

"What?"

"You coming?"

"Where?"

Steve remained undeterred. "Come on. We're going for a spar. You need practice."

That made Hwoarang open his eyes and glare at Steve. "Speak for yourself, Fox."

"I am; I am." Steve shot a radiant smile. As Hwoarang accepted his fate and picked himself off the bed, Steve got up as well and gave a few warm-up jumps excitedly.

Hwoarang looked at him and felt like his head was just about to explode. "Stay still, freaking hell. Actually, get out, already. Let me get changed."

As Steve Fox cleared the room smoothly, Hwoarang buried his head in his hands and tried to stop the world from spinning.

* * *

Hwoarang and Steve made it to the training hall adjacent to the lodgings and discovered the premises mostly empty. Jin Kazama was there, on the opposite end, doing kata. He raised his gaze and rested it on them briefly, but didn't make it over to them, as the two resumed an interrupted conversation.

"I didn't know about the accident. Sorry, mate. I thought you had a bad case of morning after," Steve said apologetically.

"Morning after what?" Hwoarang said and kicked a heel high up in the air and spun around with another, equally impressive kick. So much for stretching. His head felt decent, surprisingly enough, though he had his misgivings about sparring with a boxer.

"Just morning after. You know, hangover. I know I've got the entire symphony orchestra playing in my head." Not that Steve gave that much of a sign of his acclaimed headache. Instead, he was making warm-up jumps and honing his moves enthusiastically.

Hwoarang turned away. That damn jumping was getting to him. "So... you have a good time last night?"

_That didn't sound right._

"I had a great knees-up. Fury may be crackers, but he knows his booze."

Hwoarang was suddenly reminded why he preferred fighting the guy instead of talking with him. It was too much guesswork to figure out what Fox was actually saying. Aloud he said, "Sure. Whatever." He tried a string of swift kicks. So far, so good. He raised a brow at Steve, who accepted the challenge and moved to intercept him.

They went around in circles and kept it light in an unspoken agreement. Steve threw a lazy punch, which Hwoarang blocked and retaliated with an idle kick, which Steve ducked. They picked up the pace just a little.

"I've been getting attention. Any idea why?" Hwoarang feigned casualness, but he was fishing.

"Attention?"

"_Attention_. As in date invitations from just about everybody." Hwoarang's jaw clenched slightly and he lunged a more forceful kick than originally intended.

"Really?" Steve thought about it. "Actually, that's not surprising. Not after that show you and Jin put up."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You almost sound like you don't remember." Steve was amused.

_Yeah..._

Steve shrugged. "Don't worry about it. They'll forget about you once the games get tough." A sly smile spread across his face. "Although you two looked smashing together."

"What?" Hwoarang spun around. Unfortunately, with the force of momentum and a little help from Steve, he lost his footing. With a futile attempt at regaining his balance, Hwoarang fell promptly on his back.

Steve took a double-take, and then doubled over in laughter. "That was easy! Good on ya."

"You go to hell and you die, Fox!"

Steve cocked his head. He pulled a glove off and offered his hand. Hwoarang shot him a hateful look, but allowed Steve to yank him up.

"Hate you. Truly, I do."

"Enough to say no to a rematch?"

"You wish. You're a dead man."

At the other end of the hall, Jin Kazama had kept an eye on them. He saw Hwoarang fall and made a move to come over. The man seemed fine, though, and Jin receded. His face was unreadable as he slipped out unnoticed.

**T.B.C.**

* * *

A _knees-up_ means a _blast_ or a _party_.  
_Crackers_ means _crazy_.

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** June 5, 2008.


	4. Clashing

Kind thanks to the reviewers, and to all readers taking interest in this story! Here comes the fourth installment. It's a long one, so brace yourselves.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Clashing**

The haze cleared the next morning.

Hwoarang woke up stiff and lucid. Stiff because he must have pulled a muscle during any number of falls on the other day, and now the injury pained him; lucid because, this time around, there were no hazy blanks to fumble over. He remembered Friday night. Consequently, he was reminded of the day before, and he winced.

He had been a bastard to Kazama.

He flung his feet over the bed and sat up. Damnit! It was coming back to him, and now that he thought of it, he could not for the life of him understand how he could have been so foggy the day before. He had kicked Kazama out of the bed in the morning, which had been unwarranted. The rest of the day had gone downhill on its own accord.

Why hadn't Kazama said a thing? _Probably 'cause you didn't let him,_ Hwoarang answered himself. The other option was that it was all the same to Kazama, but that alternative wasn't worth exploring. Hwoarang ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his face. What a mess.

As he prepared to face the day, he resolved to clear the air between them one way or the other.

* * *

It was easier said than done, though. Jin wasn't around, and, after having asked for him twice, Hwoarang was unsure if he could bear a third round of gigglefest from the available informants. Hwoarang stood in the lounge and wondered how to proceed.

"Are you all right?" a quiet voice asked. Jin had appeared out of nowhere and was standing by Hwoarang's side. His face was hidden under the hood.

"Fine," he said automatically.

"Does your head still hurt?"

"It's nothing," Hwoarang dismissed. "I've had worse. Look, Ji—"

"Jin Kazama. Your turn is in fifteen minutes," a voice called. Jin and Hwoarang both started, but the message was loud and clear. Jin had a match, and the officials had come to collect him.

Their gazes locked fleetingly. Then, Jin bowed his head slightly and vanished as stealthily as he had come.

_Another time, then._

* * *

That other time never seemed to come. Jin, detached under the best of circumstances, was positively elusive. Any attempts to catch the man without making it too obvious fell through. Hwoarang had the feeling that Jin was avoiding him: even with the tournament back full-on, they should have run into each other. Jin barely had fights to speak of, if the result lists were anything to go by. By all rights, he should have been somewhere within reach.

On a positive note, Steve Fox had been right: as the games got tough, interest faded. While a couple of undaunted individuals persisted, the dust about the new pair settled almost as quickly as it had risen.

It was only after too many agonizing days later that Hwoarang finally caught up with Jin. On an impulse, he had gone to the training hall to throw a few punches and practice kicks. The late evening was ideal for someone avoiding company: a notion which was proven right almost immediately, as he spotted Jin practicing by himself.

"Hi."

"Hello." Jin's gaze swept over him, but his hands kept tracing the carefully controlled forms.

"We should talk." _And I sounded like a chick._

Jin tensed—not that it showed much in his carefully controlled poise. He started another movement... and stopped. And started a move, only to have his hand fall down weakly on his side and his posture slump just a bit. "Yes?"

_Will you look at me? Damnit, Kazama._

"Look, I'm sorry about the other day. In the morning, I wasn't thinking..." Hwoarang's voice faded. Was Kazama even listening?

"There is no harm done," Jin said evenly.

"There was something wrong with my head; I got confused for a moment."

"It doesn't matter."

And so came in a pleasant, placid voice the nastiest slap in the face that Hwoarang had endured in the tournament. "So it was all the same to you, Kazama?"

Jin caught the tone and, instantly, halted the form he had tried to execute. He straightened up and faced Hwoarang. His gaze fixated somewhere over Hwoarang's shoulder. "No, that is not what I meant. Hwoarang...," he used the name awkwardly, "I don't know what happened."

"What?"

"I don't remember what happened. So, to me, you have nothing to apologize for."

"What do you mean, you don't remember? My head was a mess the next day, but what do you mean—"

"I don't know what happened that evening. I've heard different accounts, but I have no memory of it."

"That's not possible..." Hwoarang sounded disbelieving. "It can't be."

"It must have been the alcohol," Jin suggested ruefully. "Or maybe someone tampered with the drinks?"

But Hwoarang shook his head rigorously. "Everyone drank the same stuff we did. And booze... it doesn't make you do things _you don't want to_." There was a plea in his voice.

"Nonetheless, I know nothing of it," Jin said. His eyes held Hwoarang's, who saw something flicker in them.

And yet, Jin walked away, leaving a stricken Hwoarang behind.

* * *

Hwoarang would not be struck down for long. As he calmed down and recalled the discussion, something stuck out to him. That had been several times in a row that Jin had presented different versions of "I don't remember," and, with a flash of insight, Hwoarang realized that Jin wasn't as composed as he tried to make out to be. Something else stood out stronger to him, still.

What Kazama did not deny was far more interesting than what he did deny. While Kazama was being, well, Kazama, he had not said a word about them two, only about his memory. Gut feeling told Hwoarang that he needed a second round of that little talk of theirs.

* * *

Thus, it was in the morning that Hwoarang cornered Jin at the training hall, which was quickly losing its status as a refuge to Jin. Jin did not back away when Hwoarang presented his case to him; stoic as ever, he listened to the monologue, and only a few signs gave away that something hit the mark. Yet, his response revealed little of this.

"My duty is to this tournament and to certain family obligations. I must complete this tournament, no matter the cost. I cannot be swayed by— by this. Please, leave it be. It _cannot_ change anything." There was something very odd about the way Jin said "cannot."

Jin turned to leave.

Something snapped then. "Don't walk away from me!" Hwoarang snarled and, with a quick stride, clenched Jin by the arm and yanked him around.

Jin wrenched his arm free with a single pull, and his eyes flashed. Just as quickly, he regained his sang-froid. "Let it go," he warned in a low voice. He glared at Hwoarang darkly before turning his back again...

... or trying to. Without a warning, Hwoarang reached out at lightning speed and turned him around. Next thing Jin knew, he was being flung in the air. The short flight landed him on his back, with Hwoarang rolling to sit on his chest, immobilizing him with a firm hold of his shirt.

"Get off," Jin choked as he tried to push Hwoarang away.

Hwoarang would not be put off. "No."

Jin struggled up, but Hwoarang held him down with an iron grip. Jin found himself quite helpless, and the fear of what might happen if he lost it kept him at bay and locked to the ground effectively.

"Please. Hwoarang."

"What?"

"Don't do this."

Hwoarang hesitated. Jin was out of breath—a condition from which his sitting on Jin's chest might have played a part—and virtually pleading. Hwoarang could have just moved, shrugged it off as a one-time deal, and let Kazama continue his escapist ways...

"No way," Hwoarang said with a shake of his head. "Do you honestly not remember anything?" _Anything at all? C'mon, Kazama._

They glowered at each other.

"I am sorry. Let it be. There is nothing you can do about it."

A pensive expression spread on Hwoarang's face. Jin tried to take advantage of the seeming lapse—and failed miserably, as Hwoarang's hold on him remained unfaltering. Then, Hwoarang cracked a smile.

* * *

"I have an idea..."

"I don't understand why I got to be 'ere."

"This isn't necessary."

The protests of both Steve and Jin fell on deaf ears. They had already given their best shot, and now feebly repeated their catch phrases to Hwoarang, who, after a day of frenzy, had finally cornered them and now pushed them into the lounge.

"What are you trying to prove?" Jin asked sharply, but Hwoarang remained indifferent to his objections. He was every bit as worked up as he ever got, and out to settle business.

Steve tried, too. "Come on. Talk to us. What and why?" He couldn't contain a yawn.

"This. And him and me. And you." "This" was a bottle, which Hwoarang held up.

"What is that?" Hwoarang handed the bottle to Steve, who read out the label. "Mezcal? What is that?"

"Just some booze. _Alcohol_, as some would say," Hwoarang said, and cast Jin a dark glance. "For the purpose of convincing some of us they haven't been forced into anything."

"That is not what I said."

"But that's what you meant, wasn't it?" Their gazes met and held.

Steve had trouble following. "Wait, wait. What are you on about?" It was as though those two were on an entirely different wavelength, and Steve was lagging behind. "Actually, never mind. Where did you get this?"

"The Mexican guy gave it to me. I didn't want to go to Fury, in case we'd get another dose of _spiked punch_." Another challenge, there.

"King gave this to you? Willingly?" Steve Fox sounded disbelieving.

"Somewhat." Hwoarang did not seem too concerned. "Anyhow, thought we'd play a little game here, and redo the party night. See what happens."

"What. You're attempting to reconstruct that evening. Is that it?"

"Recons— yeah. That's it."

Steve still looked confused, not to mention fatigued. He was not sure he had ever heard the reason for this offbeat demonstration, but he bore it with a stiff upper lip. "I'm not even gonna try to understand." He gave in and slumped in a chair by the table, leaning his head in his hands heavily, while Hwoarang snatched the bottle off his hands and coaxed Jin onto the couch, a small distance from him.

"How about it, Kazama? Are you game?"

"I do not see how this is necessary, or what you hope to prove."

"Maybe nothing. But aren't you curious? Or... are you afraid?"

Jin said nothing in response. Instead, he and Hwoarang embarked on a staring match from which neither was willing to back down. Hwoarang thought, through some convoluted logic, that repeating the conditions of that one night would be the key. This experiment would either confirm that it had been a hazy one-night stand...or, that it had been more.

Steve was the neutral third party—not that Hwoarang had actually mentioned this to him, or inquired his willingness for the role.

Jin, then, refused to subscribe to the alleged rationale of this insanity. He could have just left and never come back to it, but it was too much of a challenge to back down. Leaving now would have been unacceptable cowardice.

Steve, who was nodding off, finally caught up with the weirdness of the situation and wondered what, exactly, was going on. He could not stifle another yawn. "Some of us have been fighting, you know," he mumbled to no one in particular. The bottle lay forgotten in Hwoarang's grasp, as Jin and Hwoarang kept staring each other intensely. Steve reached out and snatched the bottle away to himself.

"Cheers to me," he said as he opened the bottle and took a deep gulp. Next thing he knew, his intestines were on fire. He gave a strangled groan to which the other two barely reacted.

"You okay?" Jin asked, not breaking eye contact.

Steve verged somewhere between the dead and the living before making up his mind. "Blasted, this is great!" he said enthusiastically and downed another shot. "Blimey," he murmured happily with a good deal of coughing. The drink went straight to his head, which, not long after, landed on the table, as he drowsed off.

* * *

Steve snapped awake to discover that something had changed in his absence. As he woke up completely, he realized just how much. It was still just the three of them occupying the dimly lit lounge, except...

"Umm, guys..."

He gulped.

"Hey, guys. I'm still here..."

His faint appeal went ignored. Steve wasn't sure whether to look away, flee, or step in. No, definitely not step in. That much he understood, even in his drunken stupor. Steve rubbed at his temple and tasted the lingering drink in his mouth. As he turned back to the other occupants of the room...

"Hey, keep that on. Come on. Don't take that off—"

As the dobok top landed on the floor, Steve Fox escaped the room. His departure went unheeded by Hwoarang, who was engaged in an intimate kiss with one hand caressing the back of Jin's head and the other holding him by the waist, and by Jin, who had moved on to untie the dobok belt.

**T.B.C.**

* * *

_Mescal_ (also _mezcal_) is a Mexican spirit made from the agave plant, similar to tequila.  
_Dobok_ is the taekwondo uniform, the belt of which is a _tti_. Different romanizations of the Korean words exist, starting right from _taekwondo_.

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Revised** June 30, 2008.  
**Published** June 24, 2008.


	5. Showdown

Huge thanks to the reviewers, as always! Everyone, welcome to the grand finale!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Showdown**

The incessant pounding awoke Hwoarang. Startled, he looked around in disorientation before identifying the source of the noise. Someone was banging the door like mad and—this was where he woke completely—calling his name.

The need to hurry settled upon him, and he disentangled himself to scramble up. Jin gave a displeased sound at that... and was out like a light again the next instant. An amused look crossed Hwoarang's face before another pound from the door darkened his mood.

"Just wait!" he shouted. He jumped up and looked for something to cover himself with. The task was more than difficult in the nearly lightless room, in his just awoken state.

_To hell with it._

Hwoarang snatched a pillow from the bed briskly. It was hardly an elegant solution, but the moron coming through the door seemed to lack grace himself. Hwoarang bolted to the door, fumbled a bit with the unfamiliar lock, and opened the door a crack. "What?"

"You are Hwoarang?" the official behind the door asked. Another one was standing just a foot away.

"Yeah."

"You have a match. Come with us."

"What?"

"You got rescheduled. We gotta leave now, or you'll be disqualified."

"Wait just a minute—"

The official shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's now or never. Either you come now or throw in the towel."

"Hell if I'm quitting!" Hwoarang was immediately riled. "Give me a minute."

"You don't have much t—"

The door had already been slammed shut, as Hwoarang returned to the room with a new frenzy. Clothes, guards... He'd have to make do with what he had worn earlier, and hope it was still decent.

The white dobok top shone faintly in the dark, neatly placed on the back of a chair. Hwoarang flung it on. The rest of his clothes, then... Without any pretense of decorum, Hwoarang dropped down on the floor and felt his way around. He found the underwear and the protective gear, thankfully, and slipped everything on in a flurry.

A new knock came from the door, along with a demand to be fast.

"Coming!" he shouted and managed to tie the footpads on. _Pants and tti, pants and tti..._, he repeated to himself. One hand found the tti just as he spotted the white pants leg. He grabbed it and bolted upright, flung the tti around his neck just as he pulled the pants on without even looking.

"Time's up," the official called, and Hwoarang, with an apologetic look at Jin, took his gauntlets with him and rushed to the door.

Jin woke up just enough to catch a glimpse of the receding form, and nearly froze. "Wait! Hwoarang!"

Hwoarang heard him faintly, but it was too late then as he rushed down the corridor with the officials, who predicted doom with the timing, all the while cursing to himself and longing to stop and tie his sagging pants.

_Sagging pants?_

He looked down and stopped dead on his tracks. "Wait! I gotta change these."

"You'll be disqualified. We haven't the time," the officials rushed to him and dragged him along. "Come on. It's our necks on the line, too."

"No, I gotta—"

"Come on!" The officials herded him into the yard and into the helicopter, which took off at a precarious speed.

* * *

Once inside the helicopter, the officials relaxed and gave a collective sigh of relief. One addressed Hwoarang, who was straightening his clothes and gear and running his hands through his hair in an attempt to look a little less unkempt. "Sorry about this, man. It's not our doing, but the rules are tight. You show late; you are out."

"Yeah, yeah," Hwoarang said with a sigh as he retied the tti more tightly. "What's with the rush? You could give a guy more time. This can't be legal."

"We couldn't find you. Someone told us the wrong room. Can you believe it? It's too early in the morning, so we couldn't go busting doors. We searched the house and pretty much everywhere else, until this one guy at the gym told us where to look."

"Who was that, that guy?" The question came in a casual voice, not betraying any excessive interest.

"Some boxer. English, I think. He wasn't the only one there, either. Funny time to be up and practicing, but these fighter types..." At Hwoarang's reproachful look, the man quickly amended, "Not you. You're all right."

Hwoarang hmphed.

"Cool pants," the man tried.

"Thanks." Hwoarang glanced ruefully at white pants leg. Then, he looked at the black pants leg, and retied the belt tighter for the third time.

_Great start for a day._

At least it couldn't get worse than this.

* * *

Fate begged to differ.

The stony setting might have been awe-inspiring under different circumstances. Now, Hwoarang barely registered the grotesque statues as he was rushed to the arena. As he saw his awaiting opponent, his breath caught.

Live and august, Baek Doo San stood before him. Though he now had gray in his hair, his poise was impeccable and his gaze as stern as it had been two years ago.

Hwoarang was at a loss. He bowed automatically, and Baek reciprocated gravely. Baek was scrutinizing him wordlessly, and Hwoarang fought back the burning on his face. "Master, I—"

"It is all right. Come on," Baek said with a shake of his head, just as the bell rang.

* * *

Hwoarang felt like he won by chance. The master was neither holding back nor out of practice, and Hwoarang found himself dangerously close to taking the final blow more than once.

They were well-matched, until Baek made a mistake. One kick too high up and lacking coordination and Hwoarang managed one of his own, which pushed Baek on the ground for good, prompting a ruling for a knockout.

Hwoarang looked at his master with no small amount of regret. It had been a fair match, won fairly, but the victory felt hollow. He was making a move to see that Baek was well, when the man stirred and pushed to his elbows.

"Master, I..." He halted, unsure of what to say.

Baek rose up with a slight stiffness and dusted his uniform off with precise, quick brushes. "You did well. There is no need for regret." The tone was approving, though his face was stern.

"Thank you, master."

"I will to see you after the tournament for training."

"Yes, master. Thank you." Hwoarang bowed deeply, and finally acknowledged the calls of the officials, who were ushering him for a ride back.

"Hwoarang."

Hwoarang turned.

"Wear a proper dobok for training." The corner of Baek's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Hwoarang exited the stage with another bow.

* * *

Back at the accommodations, Hwoarang made a direct course to get out of sight as quickly as possible, into a shower, and into his own clothes before any helpful commentators would corner him.

Surprisingly, no one caught up with him in the lobby. He would have rather expected the whole roster of fighters to be there just for him. He headed over to Jin's room and knocked on the door, but there was no response.

"It's me," he said, feeling rather foolish, and gave another knock. Jin's room stayed quiet, and he tried the handle. Just as he was about to enter the unlocked room, he caught a glimpse of the fighter emerging from the next room. Lee Chaolan took no time to notice his attire and throw a knowing look. With stoicism that rivaled Jin's, Hwoarang waved him aside and slammed the door shut. Thankfully, he missed the Cheshire cat grin that followed.

The room, though Jin-less, was back in a decent order, and Hwoarang found his pants neatly folded on the bed. Without further ado, Hwoarang changed, left Jin's pair on the back of the chair, and went to his own room to freshen up. No groupies tagged along this time.

* * *

Later, Hwoarang was sitting at the kitchen table, having a bite in peace, which his fellow fighters allowed. He wasn't sure to what to attribute this miracle, but he welcomed it. The few sidelong glances thrown in his direction were scarcely a distraction compared to the free-for-all a few days earlier.

As the door swooshed, the steady stream of crosstalk and banter dropped. Jin Kazama, without a hair out of place and pristine as ever, entered the room and headed for the food cabinet. All eyes were on him, save Hwoarang's, who enjoyed his food contently. Nothing out of ordinary happened, and yet the atmosphere was electric.

Jin got out whatever he had been looking for, got a drink for himself, and took a seat next to Julia, opposite Hwoarang. "Good morning, Julia, everybody."

"Yes. No. I mean, morning," Julia fumbled, and others murmured something alike as well.

Jin, a paragon of calmness, dug into his food, as did everyone else, to an extent. Only two people in the room seemed interested in eating, though, and the eyes of the remaining occupants kept darting back and forth between them in a comical manner, with varying degrees of stealth. Hwoarang raised a questioning brow when he caught Christie looking at him, and she quickly turned to her food. Hwoarang shrugged it off.

As the silence was prolonged, Jin said, "Did I interrupt something?" His voice was ever friendly and curious.

"Of course not," Julia said instantly, who, along the rest of them, couldn't divert her eyes from another round between the rivals. "Just nice to eat like this," she tried.

Instant murmurs concurred.

Nothing seemed to happen, and, one by one, the fighters made their excuses and took their leave out of the kitchen, until only two remained.

Hwoarang drew a leg up on a chair and kicked back. Jin's dedication to the dish in front of him abated. His gaze met Hwoarang's, an amused expression on his face. "You won, I trust," he said casually.

"Yeah." Hwoarang pulled at his leg and sprawled himself even further. "Barely."

Jin's brow shot up at the confession.

"Jin, it was Baek Doo San."

Jin tried to put a face on that name, but failed.

"My master. Taekwondo instructor. He's alive," Hwoarang said softly. "I thought the Ogre killed him, but he's been alive all this time."

"You learned of this only now?" Jin tried to place the man and the name. Perhaps, he had heard the name. Obviously, it meant a great deal to Hwoarang.

"No, a couple weeks back. I guess I just... didn't expect to see him like this."

"I am sorry."

"Doesn't matter. Just wish it would've been someone else." Jin was looking at him, prompting Hwoarang to reiterate with conviction, "It's fine." He leaned back with a sigh and rested his eyes.

It was quiet for a moment, but then, Jin gave a choking sound.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. Nothing."

At another sound, Hwoarang's eyes shot open. "Are you... _laughing_, Kazama?" He stared at Jin in astonishment.

"I apologize," Jin said, barely containing himself. "But you mean to tell me that you went against your taekwondo instructor you haven't seen in years... in... in a karate uniform?"

"It's not funny." Hwoarang scowled.

"It shouldn't be. But it is." Jin was shaking now.

Hwoarang glowered at him, but the mirth was infectious. "I... suppose it's just a bit funny," he conceded, and a smile threatened to break to his lips. "Damnit, Kazama," he said, and this time, he actually gave a grin.

Something broke then, and Jin, the epitome of reserved detachment, broke out in hearty laughter. Hwoarang was pulled right with him and held his stomach as he lost the futile attempt not to join in on Kazama's helpless mirth.

Not a damn thing had felt as good for a long time. Well, except...

Sense eventually caught with them, leaving them gazing at each other. Jin tossed away his tableware and headed to the door. At passing, he halted and rested a light hand on Hwoarang's shoulder, fingers brushing his neck lightly. "I have a fight tonight," he spoke as if to himself. "The door is open."

With that, he exited the room, while Hwoarang leaned back on the chair and allowed himself a smile.

* * *

Julia and Christie were still talking away and questioning the newly arrived Steve, who looked like he had emerged from some dark corner of hell, when alarming noises carried from the kitchen.

"What's that? Who's that?" Steve said and frowned.

"It's Jin and Hwoarang... laughing?" Christie tried and bit her lip.

"Laughing?" Steve repeated. "Together?" He gulped. He blinked. He turned on his heel and walked out. "M'not staying here."

"Steve. Wait, Steve," Julia tried, but Steve was gone. "What got into him?" she asked Christie, but Christie was just as clueless.

"Bad day?" she suggested.

* * *

Steve's eccentric behavior found an explanation when Hwoarang decided to pay the piper and make up for his earlier scheming with a bit of sparring. Few things could make a better apology than giving a guy a chance to execute violence.

He caught Steve in the training hall, throwing careless moves at a punching bag, which seemed to engage in the fight more than Steve did.

"Hey, Fox."

Steve turned sluggishly.

"You don't look too good. Everything okay?" Hwoarang frowned. Steve seemed groggy.

"Didn't kip a blink last night," Steve muttered.

Hwoarang swore Steve did that on purpose. "That better mean sleeping, Fox."

Steve gave a sound which translated into an affirmation.

"You're not gonna be any good like that," Hwoarang remarked. "You don't have a match, do you? Go sleep." As Steve made no attempt to react, Hwoarang sighed. "I'll take you."

Steve only moved when Hwoarang gave him a firm shove on the back. He allowed himself to be escorted in the house and up the stairs. "There," Steve pointed wanly, and slouched to the third room on the corridor—the one right next to Jin's.

"I didn't know this was yours."

"You realize how loud you are?" Steve suddenly pulled himself to life and scowled at Hwoarang.

"What?"

"You were _loud_."

Hwoarang made the connection then. He threw Steve a startled look. "Why the hell didn't you, um, knock?" he tried.

"I did!" Steve seemed on the verge of a breakdown. "In the end, it was easier to go to the gym. Wasn't the only one there, either!"

"Umm..." Hwoarang was searching for words. "I'm sorry," he said feebly. "Didn't realize."

Steve pushed him aside. "Don't need to hear it," he muttered before slamming the door.

Whatever he had meant by that, Hwoarang got the point and slipped on his way quietly.

_Great day._

* * *

Luckily, Steve Fox was a much more forgiving man when well rested. By the end of the evening, after a good few hours of uninterrupted sleep, he had accepted Hwoarang's invitation to spar and pay him back with an iron fist, and by the end of the fight, Steve had regained his good humor to the point of having a laugh about it.

"If walls had ears...," he mused with a sly look to an unrelated comment, and Hwoarang had the grace to look sheepish.

Peace was made and consideration exercised in the days to come. Life settled and the tournament progressed, until...

* * *

Hwoarang didn't know whom he was fighting that night. He had arrived ahead of time and now stood alone in the field, basking in the moonlight, which gave a pale hue to everything it touched. He wondered if the eerie mood was the making of his mind alone or if it was foreshadowing of trouble to come. He laughed at the thought mirthlessly.

_Superstition._

Still, the ill feeling persisted and made him uneasy.

At midnight, his opponent showed. Hwoarang was stretching when he heard footsteps approaching and turned around. His heart sank.

"So, this is it, Jin," he said unhappily. He kicked at the ground. _This is how it ends._

Jin was caught off balance as well. The chagrin was audible in his tone when he spoke. "I will not hold back." His voice was pained.

"Neither will I, but you know that already."

The blue setting emphasized the inescapable blue mood. The fight was about to commence.

"Hey, Jin?" Hwoarang waited for Jin to look at him. "There will be other tournaments." _Other times._

A moment passed, and then...

They exchanged grins. In tandem, they took their fighting stances.

**THE END**

* * *

**Sincere thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** July 14, 2008.

* * *

**Concluding Notes:**

This has been a blast and a great run. I thank for all the reviews and other favorable attention along the way, and hope this isn't the end of it! Special thanks to those who stayed with me all the way, reviewing up to every chapter.

Heartfelt thank you to **Gypsie** for proofreading the entire story!

Hwoarang addresses Jin by his first name throughout Tekken 5. In both Jin and Hwoarang's storylines, Hwoarang calls him "Jin"—as opposed to "Kazama" or "Jin Kazama"—even though the English subtitles read "Kazama" at both times. If anyone with a good command of the Korean language **ever** steps in here: I would love to hear the word-to-word translations of the Korean lines!

_Salysha finally completes her story, Bedded Rivals.  
What is up next for Salysha?_

Bedded Rivals © Copyright 2008 Salysha


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